


Currently thinking about...

by writinginthesecrettrees



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Spoilers, Non-Graphic Violence, Stanford Era, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2019-10-14 02:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 8,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinginthesecrettrees/pseuds/writinginthesecrettrees
Summary: Various ficlets I've written on Tumblr. It's all wincest. Unrelated chapters. Some are longer than others, the main thing is they're all unpolished.Some chapters may have minor spoilers.Rating are general-explicit, varies by chapter.





	1. serial killers! weecest - teen

Currently obsessed with little Sammy sneaking out late at night to murder the waitress who was flirting with Dean. He dips his fingers into her blood, writes “SLUT” on the wall, paints his lips with it while it’s still bright and wet.

It dries dark and brownish, and Dean licks it off when Sam tries to sneak back in unnoticed. They leave early in the morning, before the body is found, tell John that CPS was starting to poke around so they had to move on, and John pretends he doesn’t know about the string of pretty dead girls in their wake.


	2. stanford era pining - teen

Currently thinking of Sammy, riding a bus west to Stanford, tracing over fading finger bruises on his hips and waist and wishing they would stay forever. Can’t be renewed this time.

The day he wakes up and they’re all faded to nothing, he heads to a college bar and gets sloppy drunk, picks the biggest closet case he can find and seduces him into a rough and dirty fuck in the alley. Back in his dorm, he pretends the new marks are from Dean.


	3. rulers of hell wincest - teen

Currently thinking about boyking!Sam waking up knightofhell!Dean by dripping holy water across his naked back. It hisses and bubbles and leaves blisters that form the filthiest words any demon knows - words like love, adored, beautiful. And mine, traced over and over.

Dean lets him, because Dean is the one who finds churches and priests and holy water; gets other demons to possess them just so he can drain their blood into bottles that used to hold sacramental wine and bring it to his king.

And all of Hell and its subjects may think that Dean is the one who’s owned, body and what scrap of soul he has left, but they both know that Sam belongs to Dean just as much. It’s carved into his flesh, scars left from a blade that used to kill demons biting into his flesh when they fuck.


	4. weecest in a motel - teen

Dreaming of Dean and John, back from a night out digging up graves and burning old bones, getting back to the motel when the sun is just rising. John stumbles to the bed closest to the door, kicks off his boots and falls into it still covered in ash and dirt and he’s asleep before Dean makes it to the shower.

Because as much as Dean wants to fall into his own bed, pull an armful of baby brother close and dream of sweeter nights, he can’t do that until he’s clean. Until he knows that he won’t dirty Sammy up any more than he already has.

He doesn’t bother waiting for the shower to heat up, too tired for more than a quick scrub under the freezing water, scrubbing at the night’s grime until he feels somewhere near clean enough to put his hands on Sam.

The bed is hard and the sheets are scratchy but it smells like Sam, and that’s better than any five-star fancy hotel could hope to be. Sam grumbles when Dean pulls him close. The heat of sleep-warm skin sinks into Dean’s bones.

Sam wakes a bit more, squirms in Dean’s too-tight embrace until he can wriggle around to nuzzle like some toothless vamp at Dean’s throat. “Taste like Dial,” he mutters, wrinkling his nose at the film of soap, remnant of the hurried shower, and Dean licks the bitter taste from his mouth.

Sam slips gently back into sleep and Dean follows not long after, lips a breath away from Sam’s and senses filled with his scent, his feel, his taste.


	5. pining weecest - teen

Currently thinking about Sammy trying so hard to pretend that he’s normal... trying to pretend that he wants to go on dates with girls and that it doesn’t kill him every time Dean comes to pick him up in a car that smells like sex and cheap perfume.

Sammy asking Dean for advice on how to kiss, because then he can fantasize about exactly how Dean would kiss him if he were one of those pretty girls at school. The ones who Dean leers at and flirts with. The ones who get to touch Dean in all the ways Sam dreams about at night.

When Sam gets back to the motel of the week, Dean’s not there. He’s out with some other random girl, and Sam can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt anymore so he throws a fit. Strips the blankets and sheets off the beds, throws clothing and toiletries and weapons all over the room. Breaks the mirror in the bathroom and tears the shower curtain off the rod and takes a knife to an old Metallica shirt he’d found at Goodwill for two bucks because it _hurts_ and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.

The shirt’s in shreds, and it turns Sam’s rage to despair because this was going to be Dean’s birthday present and now it’s ruined, just like everything else. He looks around the room and he can’t remember how the cheap table got splintered down to pieces or when the tv got thrown into the wall.

*

Currently thinking about Dean on another meaningless date with another forgettable girl, trying to make himself stop thinking of a little brother wrapping arms around him in a field with stolen fireworks lighting the sky. It doesn’t work, it never does.

He shows her a good time, because he’s a gentleman and it’s not her fault she can’t ever hope to measure up to Sammy, and has her home before her curfew, anxious to get back to the motel and shower off her scent. He forgets all about that when he opens the door and finds chaos: furniture overturned, belongings strewn across and through the mess, and Sam sitting on a bare mattress with a knife in his hand and shreds of fabric around him, staring blankly at a hole in the wall.

*

Currently thinking about Dean frantically checking Sam for injuries, asking what happened, where’s the thing that did this, and Sam still in shock, starting to cry and babbling about how much it hurts, and that doesn’t help Dean calm down at all. Sam’s starting to shiver, and the blankets are out of reach and Dean can’t let him go, not when he still doesn’t know what’s happened, so he pulls Sam close, wraps him in arms and his own jacket.

Sam tries to stop himself, but he can smell _her_ on Dean’s skin and it brings back the pain and anger and hopelessness spilling up out of him in a string of jealous words, every thought and wish he’s tried to push away escaping over his lips to the last person he ever wanted to tell. It doesn’t stop until Dean seals their lips together, takes the hurt and shares his shame, whispers apologies into his mouth and chases them down with his tongue.

*

Currently thinking of two hopeless boys sneaking out of a motel before dawn, running before the manager finds the broken mess they’ve left. Sam slides across the seat of the Impala, snuggles against Dean’s side as they drive the way he’s always wanted to.


	6. smutty angst - explicit

Currently obsessed with Dean finally giving in to Sam’s pretty begging and finally fucking him. He wants to be gentle, wants to spend hours on whisper-soft touches and sweet words because Sammy deserves that, but he can’t keep himself from biting at lips and throat until he tastes blood, sharp and metallic.

Bruises bloom under his fingers along Sam’s waist and hips, and Sam is so tight when he pushes in he thinks maybe his dick won’t even fit, maybe this final defilement is physically impossible. He’s not so lucky, though, sinks in balls deep and Sammy arches his back and moans, begs him not to stop.

Dean sets a punishing pace, hard and fast, burying himself in Sam again and again. He comes with his teeth in Sam’s shoulder and Sam clenched tight around him, and a part of him hopes that Sam hated it, is maybe scared enough to try normal again.

That hope dies when Sammy runs a finger through his own come, smeared between them, and smiles up at him with hunger still plain in his eyes.

When they finally collapse exhausted in sleep, Dean dreams of hellfire licking at his flesh.


	7. breaking dean's heart - mature

Currently thinking about Sam begging Dean to fuck him. Dean wants to be a good brother, tries so hard, promises “stay a virgin ‘til you’re 18, Sammy, if you do that I’ll fuck you as much as you want.” He hopes that Sam will forget about it by then, that or give in to hormones and find someone more normal and get over this shared perversion.

He watches, though – watches Sam ignore every flirtation aimed towards him, watches Sam grow up and up and more beautiful with each day. Watches Sam keep his purity intact, though his eyes go dark and angry every time Dean takes off with someone else. When Sam’s birthday passes with no mention of their promise, Dean’s relieved and disappointed that Sam has maybe forgotten.

It’s months after Sam’s birthday when he slams Dean against a motel wall. “You promised,” Sam says and that’s it, Dean’s lost his battle with temptation. They fuck and make love and fuck some more, and Dean hates himself for corrupting Sam but he’s in heaven nonetheless.

Hell is a morning with Sam gone, leaving an acceptance letter from a fancy school in California in his place.


	8. sick!sam fluff - General

Currently thinking about Sammy waking up sick enough that he doesn’t complain when Dean feels his forehead and declares no school today, doesn’t even complain when Dean says he’s cutting too. 

“Gotta take care of you, baby boy.”

Sam just grumbles at Dean that he’s not a baby and snuggles deeper into the nest of pillows and blankets Dean’s built on one of the beds.

Dean sweettalks the manager’s wife into giving them extra blankets and a couple cans of chicken noodle - “Please, ma’am, my baby brother’s got an awful cold, and our Dad’s not gonna be back until late,” - and comes back to Sam shivering in an overheated room.

“Budge up,” Dean says, and scoots in behind Sammy, pulling him (gross and sweaty with fever) back against his chest. 

Sammy’s making little grunts of contentment, whispers “thanks, D’n,” and falls into a half-sleep state of rest. It’s far too hot, covered in blankets and wrapped around a little brother doing his best impersonation of a furnace, but hellhounds couldn’t drag him away from this.


	9. after the pilot - teen

Currently thinking about Dean wrestling Sammy out of his burning apartment, Sam fighting to run back into the fire. For a while, Sam is numb, able to distract himself with talking to cops and fire inspectors, comb through soot and ash for anything salvageable. And there’s _her_ parents, grief-stricken and talking to Sam like they know him, shooting glances at Dean like they want him gone.

But Dean sticks around, knows that the pain is going to hit Sam soon and he can’t leave him to shoulder that alone. They’re fifty miles out of town and headed east when it hits, and Dean watches Sam’s face crumple and he thinks that might break his heart, if it hadn’t broken years ago.

Dean pulls into the first motel they come to, half-carries Sam into a room and shoves a half-empty bottle of whiskey at him. And Sam gets drunk, and alternates between blaming himself for leaving and swearing vengeance on the thing that killed her, and Dean sits with him, tries to find the right words but everything he can think of sticks in his throat.

He wants to feel sympathy, he wants to be the brother Sam needs right now, and he can pretend but he can’t fool himself. Because Sam was his _first,_ until he decided that Dean wasn’t good enough, wasn’t _normal_ enough. And there’s a horrible part of his soul that’s glad that Sam’s “normal” went up in smoke.

Jealous of a dead girl, how fucked up is that? 

Fucked up enough that Dean doesn’t protest when Sam pulls him into a hug, falls back onto the bed and drags Dean down with him. Fucked up enough to get a king, fucked up enough that he’d almost convinced himself that he just wanted to hold Sam, give him comfort in his grief.

Sam’s squirming around beneath him, and Dean thinks Sam wants him off, tries to roll away, but Sam’s kicking his jeans off and tugging at Dean’s belt. “Please, Dean,” and his voice is rough with whiskey and tears, “please, make me forget?”

And Dean’s just fucked up enough to say “yes.”


	10. sam tempting dean - teen

Currently obsessed with Sam stealing John’s flannel shirts, wearing them unbuttoned over wife beaters he pulls out of Dean’s duffel. And at first Dean is glad to see it, a reprieve from Sam in too-tight shirts that Dean would swear fit last month (or was it the month before?), baby brother in over-sized clothes looking like the child that used to wear Daddy’s shirts hanging down to his knees for sleep.

Then Dean notices how Sam’s fingertips barely show below the cuffs of the sleeves, how his waist looks small and delicate when the flannel opens wide as he walks. And Dean notices how Sam’s narrow shoulders don’t hold the flannel up, and Sam just lets it slip down over his arms, baring slender limbs to the elbow. 

And Dean notices how the other boys at school notice Sam now. And Sam laughs, looks up through his stupid-long Kurt Cobain hair, doesn’t blush and stutter at them before running back to Dean the way he used to with girls.

Still, Dean might have kept it together. But he notices something else, too. Notices that one teacher other kids whisper about, notices him noticing Sam. And Sam noticing back. And Dean hates it.

That’s what breaks Dean’s resolve, has him shoving Sam into the bathroom, bending down to hiss in his ear.

“You wanna be a slut, Sammy? Go around _begging_ for it from every cock in the school?” 

Eyes flash hurt before turning sullen. “Maybe. If I can’t get the one I want.”

-

Currently thinking about two brothers sneaking out of the same bathroom stall. Sam’s shirt is buttoned all the way up to his throat, collar tugged high, hiding fresh marks across his collarbones.


	11. in honor of the 300th (/john) - mature

Currently thinking about John back from the dead, and Dean can’t stop thinking of what they used to be. The one secret left between him and Sam. And Dean’s lying awake, glad for once that Sam is preoccupied with whatever line of research he’s going down now, trying to solve the Michael problem.

Dean should be getting up, dragging Sam out of the library and back to their bed, but his feet take him the other direction. Down a hallway, round a corner, heading towards Dad with desire swirling in his belly and guilt weighing down his heart.

A sliver of light under the door tells him Dad’s still awake _(maybe waiting for me?)_ and he doesn’t hesitate to open the door, slips inside before he registers the sounds and the scene on the bed.

Sam isn’t in the library. He’s here, naked, riding Dad and Dad’s got his hands around Sam’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh. And Sam hasn’t noticed him, head thrown back and eyes shut tight, but Dad’s always aware of his surroundings, no matter what else is going on, and his eyes lock with Dean’s over Sam’s shoulder.

And the guilt is gone, because suddenly this one last secret he never shared with Sam doesn’t matter, because Sam had a secret, too. Dean feels his lips quirk up, grins at Dad and watches Dad’s smile spread across his face.

-

Currently thinking about Sam and Dean snuggled up on either side of John in a too-narrow bed in the bunker, all of them sleepy and sated. John’s arms hold his boys close, stroke over their shoulders and backs, and their hands are clasped over his chest.

Currently thinking about Sam saying “So Mom’s alive, too.”


	12. slutty!sammy, weecest - mature

Currently thinking of Sammy, fourteen and so tired of this hopeless love he has for Dean. And he can never have him, so Sam starts dropping to his knees for any boy that asks.

Every new school, it doesn’t take long for Sam to get the kind of reputation that would have Dean breaking heads if he were around to hear the way they talked about his baby brother, but Dean dropped out months ago, off hunting with Dad more often than not, and Sam’s got more freedom than he ever wanted.

He gives his first time to his soccer coach after hearing a cheerleader telling her friends about the night before, when she rode a handsome stranger in the back of a big black muscle car.

-

Currently thinking of Sam and Dean, pulling into a truck stop on their way across the country to meet up with their dad. Sam can’t manage to find an appetite, not when he has to watch Dean flirt with the waitress. When Dean follows her into the back, throwing a wink over his shoulder, Sam abandons his untouched fries and heads outside. Hops up on the hood of the Impala, leans back against the windshield, lets his shirt ride up in a blatant invitation to any trucker who might be interested in a sixteen year old slut.

Some guy approaches him (some guy _always_ approaches him) and Sam follows him, climbs into the cab of his truck without hesitation because he’s got a knife in his boot and a gun in the back of his pants, and besides that he fully intends to give this guy exactly what he wants.

He’s got a mouthful of dick and the guy’s hand fisted in his hair when the door of the truck is ripped open, and Sam’s first thought is _werewolf_ because of the growl, before he remembers that it’s daylight and werewolves only come out at night.

Dean’s got the guy flat on his back, gun pressed hard beneath his chin and a knee on his chest, holding him down, and the guy is hysterical, going on about how “the kid was asking for it, man, he wanted it,” and Dean’s not even talking, growls louder until the guy shuts up.

-

Currently thinking of Dean dragging Sam back to the car, shoving him into the passenger seat and peeling out of the lot. Sam watches him, waits for Dean to start shouting or something, but Dean just clenches the wheel, knuckles white and face flushed, and ignores him.

Sam thinks they might sit in silence for the next hundred miles, but Dean spins the wheel, sends them lurching off the highway down a dirt road, slams to a stop, and that’s really scary, because Dean _never_ treats Baby like that.

Dean’s voice is soft, sounds hurt, when he says “I can’t do this anymore. Can’t watch you fuck _everything that moves_ except me. I can’t, Sammy.”

-

Currently thinking of Sam launching himself across the seat, almost tackling Dean in his rush to press their mouths together. And when Dean’s jaw drops in surprise, Sam takes the chance to lick inside, squirms around until he’s fully seated in his big brother’s lap.

The sun is setting when they get back on the road, clothes rumpled and car smelling of love and lust. And just because he can, Sam lies across the seat, head in Dean’s lap, drifting to sleep with a smile.


	13. valentine's day, murder bros - teen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is now part of a larger work called "Currently Thinking About Henricksen."

Currently thinking of Sam and Dean murdering their way across the country, and the FBI trying to track them and dreading what they’ll do next.

Because the Winchester brothers are twisted as fuck, and they like to add themes to their gore.

On Thursday, Agent Henriksen finds a large package on his desk, and he knows without opening it that it’s from them. He gets the forensics team up - no hope they’ll actually find anything _useful_ , but it all goes into evidence for when they catch up with them. They go over the packaging, find at least a dozen prints that will never be matched to Sam or Dean, then carefully open it.

It’s a box of hearts, with a couple of those nasty chalky candies glued to the top.

ALL MINE

and 

MY BABY

The box has a reddish brown stain creeping up the sides, almost black at the bottom. Inside, it looks like a pile of raw meat. Eventually, when the rookie crowding in to see is done retching and the medical examiner has come up with stainless steel trays to lay out the pieces, they find that the mound of flesh is hearts.

“Why 23?” the rookie asks. “What’s the significance?”

“Haven’t you read the damn file?” Henriksen snaps at him. “Sam is 23, turning 24 in May.”

“So?”

“So this how Dean brotherfucking Winchester says ‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’ One for each year they’ve been together.”

As he starts off to start the task of tracking the identities of these victims, to give their families the worst possible news, he hears the kid ask “doesn’t he mean _m_ otherfucking?”

Another member of the task force laughs, and says “Read the file, rookie. He said what he meant.”


	14. sam likes dean's lips - gen

Currently thinking about Sam staring at Dean, transfixed by his lips constantly. He’d thought when he was younger that he would get over this - the obsession with the way Dean’s lips move when he smiles, when he laughs, when he eats or drinks… even sleeping, Sam can’t keep from staring.

Soft and relaxed in sleep, barely parted to let out soft breaths. Stretched wide and flashing teeth when Dean smiles. Lower lip constantly pulled into his mouth, because Dean chews on his own lip when he’s thinking and Sam desperately wants to offer to do it for him.

Dean’s never owned Chapstick, but his lips are always perfect.

Sam’s not sure which is the worst: Dean eating a burger, lips shiny with grease and tongue constantly darting out to lick the juices that try to run down his chin, or Dean drinking a beer, straight from the bottle, head tipped back and lips wrapped around the neck, and Sam can see him swallowing and he wants to stop staring but he can’t.

Going on thirty-six years of constant torture, and he’s given up hope of ever growing out of it.


	15. weecest in a sex shop - explicit

Currently thinking about Dean talking Sammy into using his brand new fake ID to sneak into the sex shop out behind their motel. Sam’s hesitant at first, doesn’t want to get caught, knows that he looks nowhere near the 22 it says on the card, but he’s never been able to say no to Dean, so he follows him into the store with its burned-out neon sign and painted-over windows.

The man at the register says “ID,” doesn’t look up to inspect the cards or the boys offering them. 

It makes Dean grin wide, elbow Sam in the ribs with a ridiculous wag of his eyebrows. Sam rolls his eyes, regrets it when he takes in far more of the shop’s interior than he ever wanted to. Tables covered in old issues of Playboy and Hustler (”You wanna Playgirl, Sammy? My treat,” and Sam smacks Dean hard), a rotating rack filled with VHS tapes with lurid sleeves. Dean steers Sam towards the back, a wall covered floor to ceiling with dicks in all sorts of colors. And sizes.

Sam stares, and Dean crowds in behind him, wraps arms around around his chest and rubs his half-hard cock against Sam’s ass. Leans down to whisper about what they could do with a fake dick, puffs of hot air and a slight brush of lips against his ear, and Sam feels himself press back, feels his knees go weak.

Dean’s hand slides down his chest, over his belly, down into the loose waist of his hand-me-down jeans, and Sam whines at the touch. Dean’s grinding against him, moving in rhythm with his hand on Sam’s cock, and he presses his free hand over Sam’s mouth. Sam lets his head falls back against Dean’s chest and sucks Dean’s fingers into his mouth.

Dean’s panting against his ear, disjointed whispers about stuffing Sam full of silicone and “bet you’d like that, getting fucked by a big fake dick while you suck me off, get me nice and wet so I can slide right in next to it” and Sam’s eyes roll back and he’s moaning around the fingers in his mouth.

He blinks, focuses. There’s a mirror in the corner, and he meets the clerk’s eyes. The man isn’t ignoring them now, is watching them intently, arm moving rapidly, watching Sam getting jerked off by his brother and Sam’s hips jerk as he comes.

Sam doesn’t break eye contact when he tugs Dean’s hand out of his pants, licks it clean as Dean groans.

“A thousand bucks and whatever merch you want if you let me film ya,” the guy grunts.

-

Currently thinking about Sam and Dean, back at the motel, and Dean is fucking Sam’s face, growling about the freaking perv who thought he could buy them when he should have just been grateful for the free show.


	16. wincest in early s4 - teen

Currently thinking of Dean fresh back from Hell, and Sam checking over every inch of him, learning the changes.

He used to know Dean’s body better than his own, every claw mark and bite and slash and how each of them were acquired. Even the ones from when he was at Stanford - the ones he’s spent hours on, learning by sight and feel and wishing he could speak of the regret he has, that he wasn’t there and didn’t protect him.

It’s all new now - unmarked and whole, except for the handprints.

Sam doesn’t realize at first that he’s growling, low in his throat, every time his fingers or lips skim over the raised flesh. It’s not the first time Dean’s ever been marked, even if it is the first time in his remade skin, but it is the first time a mark has felt like a claim.

And that’s not okay.

Sam spends hours, marking out every scar Dean used to have, a roadmap of memories sucked and bitten and scratched into his skin. Dean lets him, moans that send shivers down his spine, writhing on the bed beneath Sam’s hands. When every mark is recalled, recreated, Sam straddles him, sinks down on him and rides him slowly, until Dean is almost in tears, clutching at his hips and waist, gasps out “yours, God, Sammy, ‘m _yours,”_ and they both come.

When Dean’s finally asleep, Sam slips out of his arms, grabs a marker from his bag, and gets to work.

-

Currently thinking of Dean waking up, smiling at Sam sleeping in his arms. He’s been an expert at disentangling their legs as long as he can remember, and Sam doesn’t wake up when he rolls away, walks to the bathroom.

Dean’s halfway through brushing his teeth when he sees the black scribbles on his shoulders.

Xs, in thick bold lines, cover the handprints. And across his chest, ‘MINE,’ reminding Dean of a jealous little brother who hated sharing when they were young.

It’s almost enough to make Dean believe that they’ll work it out, that the secrets they’ve both accumulated over four months _(forty years)_ won’t break them.


	17. weecest and a knife - mature

Sam got his first erection when he was sparring with Dean and his big brother pinned him to the ground, hands on his wrists and sitting on his legs. It was the combination of being held down and being held down by _Dean_ , and he didn’t know what was happening.

Of course, after hand to hand combat, John has Dean teach Sam knife fighting. Sam can’t help it, his knees go weak when Dean’s knife is pressed to his throat. He comes in his pants when the blade bites into his skin, barely drawing blood, but the hungry look in Dean’s eyes promises they’ll take it farther soon.


	18. weecest and sam feeling dirty - mature

Currently thinking of Sammy, and he’s never felt pure or clean in his life. Always felt like there was something beneath his skin that made him filth.

When Dean lays him softly on white sheets, touches him reverently, Sam’s surprised that his skin isn’t staining the white to black.

“So perfect, Sammy,” Dean whispers, and Sam turns away, feels like an imposter, doesn’t want Dean to look and see the filth in his eyes.

Dean is soft touches and golden sunlight, and Sam hates that he can’t stop begging for brother hands in his darkest places, wants to feel Dean reach inside of him and squeeze his heart until it stops its psychotic beating in his chest. He wraps pale legs around Dean’s sunshine waist, pulls Dean deeper, can’t find the words to ask for more of the pleasure pain pounding into him. Dean kisses the tears off his cheeks, mortified whispers of apology for hurting him but that’s not why Sam’s crying, not why Sam shuts his eyes against the sobs that try to break free.

Sam can’t stand seeing his filth spreading over Dean, can’t stand the way he’s corrupted him, can’t stop moaning and begging and clawing at his back.

Sam’s never felt pure or clean in his life, and he has to get out before he destroys his brother too.


	19. weecest and mutual pining - general

Currently thinking of Sam waking up as the sun rises, lights their room because the cheap motel curtains are crap at keeping it out. John’s in the next bed, dead to the world from exhaustion and booze and the ever-present heartbreak simmering under his skin, and Sam doesn’t spare a thought for him.

Early morning moments are too precious to waste.

Dean’s sleeping beside Sam, sprawled across more than his half of the bed and one arm flung out, snaked under Sam and pulling him close and in the early morning light Sam can pretend it’s on purpose. Pretend it didn’t happen sometime during the night and a dream of some girl two towns back.

Sunlight filtered through yellowed curtains casts brilliant gold across Dean’s skin and Sam drinks in the sight, memorizes the slope of his nose and curve of his cheek, inhales deeply and smells complimentary shampoo, wishes he could bury his nose in the barely curling hair at Dean’s neck. He brings a hand up instead, traces through the air just over Dean’s skin, feels warmth radiating from him, pretends he can feel soft lips beneath the pads of his fingers. Dean’s breath puffs softly across his hand, and Sam presses his fingers against his own mouth, tries to find Dean’s taste in molecules that may cling to his knuckles.

-

Currently thinking of Dean, pretending to sleep, pretending that Sam’s touch brushing just above the baby hairs on his cheek isn’t sending shivers through his body. 

Pretending.


	20. weecest & lipstick & a blowjob - explicit

Currently thinking about Sammy stealing cherry red lipstick out of a classmate’s purse. He hides it in the nightstand drawer at the motel, right next to the Bible, and waits for morning. 

Dean’s still asleep when Sam wakes up, sun barely over the horizon. They share a bed, even when Dad’s not here to take the other. Especially when Dad’s not here to take the other, and they can have slow, torturous sex that Dean drags out until Sam is begging to come, or go fast and hard and so loud the neighbors bang on the walls to get them to shut up. Anything but the furtive, quiet, guilty, try-not-to-get-caught sex when Dad’s in the next room, or down at the bar and could be back any minute. But Dad’s on a hunting trip, and Dean’s still asleep, and Sam has stolen lipstick in the bedside drawer. 

Sam takes it out, puts it on, smears waxy red over and over his lips until his mouth is thickly coated in slipshine scarlet. There’s a mirror on the far wall, and his smile is bright and wet, and Dean’s still asleep, naked under a thin sheet in the early autumn heat. Sam leans down, presses a soft kiss to the base of Dean’s throat. Wishes he dared leave a more permanent mark, and Sam slides down the bed, dragging the sheet off with him.

He licks up Dean’s cock, from root to tip, and kisses the head, and that wakes his big brother. Dean’s hand finds the back of his head, fingers sliding into his hair, pinpricks of pain where strands are tugged out. “Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, sleep-rough and warm. 

Sam doesn’t speak, smiles around a mouthful of morning wood and hums a response, making Dean gasp and arch up into his mouth. Sam relaxes his throat just the way Dean taught him, closes his eyes and savors the taste and feel of Dean thrusting up into his mouth. Silky smooth and a little salty, thick enough to make his jaw ache, fucking into his throat fast and deep and Sam gets a little light-headed, can’t quite catch his breath around Dean’s cock and he loves it, ruts against the mattress because he needs it and can’t bear the thought of taking his hands away from Dean’s skin.

He comes in the sheets when Dean comes down his throat, bitterness on the back of his tongue, and he holds Dean in his mouth until Dean’s hand tightens in his hair, pulls him off and up up up into a messy kiss. Sam’s lipstick is smeared, more of it on Dean’s shaft than his lips now and Sam looks down, smiles at the streaks of red while he settles into the cradle of Dean’s arm around his shoulders while Dean nuzzles sleepily at his hair.


	21. moc!dean and dubcon  - explicit

Currently thinking about MoC!Dean getting darker and darker; and he's starting to give in to desires he hasn't even admitted to himself. So one night he gets chains from the dungeon, locks Sam to the bed, and waits for him to wake up. Spends days using Sam, fucking his pretty mouth and prettier ass, and when he's not fucking Sam he's eating him out, pinching and biting his nipples, sucking him, finding every way he can draw moans from his brother. 

"You're killing me," Sam gasps after countless orgasms.

“Not yet,” Dean growls.


	22. weecest and sam is a noisy little bitch - mature/explicit

Currently thinking of John getting back from a hunt, only to find that his boys have hopped motels again.

“This is ridiculous,” he says when he catches up to them. “There’s no reason you should be making so much noise you get kicked out every time I’m gone.”

“Sorry, sir,” they answer, looking at the ground. 

Then Dean smirks. “Not my fault Sammy’s a noisy little bitch.”

“Dean!” Sam shouts indignant, kicks at his brother’s leg. 

Dean tackles him, and they land on the bed, bouncing and wrestling and Sam’s laughing shrieks fill the room and John’s heart together. He smiles, watching them, and yeah he can see how two noisy boys roughhousing made enough noise to get kicked out but it’s good to see them happy. And he needs to break up the fight before they break this bed, too.

“All right, enough!” John barks out, and Dean immediately jumps off of Sam, stands in front of him again, still grinning. Sam scrambles to his feet a moment later, face flushed and panting slightly. “Just… try to keep the roughhousing outside, okay boys? Last thing we need is someone looking into us when you kids are alone.”

-

Currently thinking of John off on another hunt, leaving his boys behind with an admonition to _keep it down._ So this time when Dean’s balls deep in Sammy’s ass, he’s got his hand pressed tight over Sammy’s mouth, muffles the moans and whines and begging with fingers shoved into wet heat, muffles his own grunts with teeth in Sam’s shoulder.

When they’re finished, lying sweat-slick and pressed together because they can’t stand not touching, Sammy snorts. “It is so your fault,” he mumbles, lips pressed against Dean’s neck.

Dean’s brain is still sex-hazed, and it takes a moment for him to catch up. “Maybe,” he says, pulling Sam tighter to him and pressing a kiss to mussed-up hair. “But you’re still a noisy little bitch.”


	23. boyking!sam with no wincest - gen

Currently thinking about Azazel, realizing that he greatly miscalculated in choosing Sam Winchester as his favorite of the special kids. Because Sam Winchester is Not Happy at having been chosen, and Not Happy at being separated from Dean.

Azazel comes to this realization around the time he checks in on the little ghost town he chose for the battle royale and finds it burned to the ground, a few smoking timbers and piles of rubble all that’s left. He doesn’t get long to appreciate the magnitude of his miscalculation, however. He finds himself in the middle of a Key of Solomon drawn in holy oil, lit ablaze around him as Sam Winchester comes out of hiding to spring the trap. The last survivors of his special kids are there, gazing at Sam with something akin to worship in their eyes as Sam uses his demon-born telekinesis to summon the Colt.

“You said you wouldn’t lead my army,” Azazel says.

“I’m not,” Sam replies, taking aim. “I’m leading mine.”

-

Currently thinking of Dean doggedly following the trail left by Sam and his ever-growing army, from Cold Oak to a small graveyard in Wyoming. When Dean gets there, it’s empty. One crypt stands open and the Colt is still set into a lock on the door. Something had tried to come out of it, but whatever it was had been pushed back.

Bobby tries to stop Dean from entering the crypt, following the dark stairs inside, but all signs point to Sam being somewhere down there so Dean shakes him off, descends armed with iron and holy water, feeling woefully inadequate to face whatever he’s about to find.

He’s not sure when the stairs pass out of the realm of the living and into Hell, but eventually he’s walking past bleeding walls and surrounded by the wailing of tormented souls and the only thing that keeps him moving forward is knowing that Sam is down there, somewhere deeper in the pit. Vague forms drift closer to him, then cringe away. Dean can’t quite make himself look at them, his mind refusing to comprehend the true forms of demons around him.

He doesn’t know why they don’t try to stop him. He’s been walking ever-downward for what may have been hours or could have been days when he reaches a set of doors, the first thing he’s seen in Hell that his eyes would focus on, and pushes through, comes face to face with his baby brother sitting on the throne of Hell. Sam’s eyes are sparkling yellow and hellhounds sprawl around the foot of his throne.

“Sammy?” he says, unsure.

The yellow fades out of Sam’s eyes and Sam grins, holds out a hand. “Rule with me?”

It’s Hell. It’s demons, and joining the evil, and working with the monsters they’ve spent their lives fighting. It’s everything Dad warned him about before dying.

It’s Sam.

Dean smiles.


	24. untouched slutty sammy - explicit

Currently thinking Sammy lying next to Dean in bed, biting his fist to muffle the sounds that want to escape while Dean whispers in his ear, tells him all the things he wants to do, and John snores softly three feet away.

Dean’s stroking himself, makes their bed rock slightly, but Sam’s not allowed to touch. Not allowed to move his hands down to his belly or lower, not allowed to reach over the inch that separates him from Dean, not allowed to do anything but listen.

Dean’s breath tickles Sam’s ear, breathless murmurs of how Dean will touch him. How Dean will brush fingers and lips over every inch of his body, lick into his mouth and hole, get him ready for Dean’s dick, and Sam pants, aches to feel it, but Dean doesn’t reach out to him either. Keeps whispering about how he’ll fuck Sammy’s pretty mouth, get all slippery slick with saliva before giving Sammy what he’s desperate for. Sam can almost taste it, wants to suck his own fingers in imitation but that’s against the rules.

Dean’s breath pants faster against his ear as he tells Sam how good it will feel, all tight and hot and wet when he buries himself in his baby brother, strokes himself faster while he whispers about how he’ll fill Sammy up with his come.

“You like that, Sammy?” and Sam nods frantically, little boy hips humping up off the mattress into the air.

Dean scoots closer, almost touching but not quite yet, whispers about getting his fingers back into Sam after he’s fucked sloppy loose. Sam’s head tips back into the pillow, hips strain up, and a soft whine builds in his throat when Dean gasps out broken words about how Sam’ll be so loose Dean will be able to fit his whole hand up inside him.

“Gonna be such a slut for me, Sammy,” Dean whispers, and Sam comes dry at the feel of Dean’s come spattering hot and wet against his hip. “Such a perfect slut, when you’re old enough,” Dean says, slipping off into sleep.

Sam drags a finger through the cooling drops on his skin, allowed to touch again now that they’re finished. Wishes he could say that he’s already Dean’s slut, has always been, will always be, and doesn’t need to be touched to make it true.


	25. pining sam coming out to his girlfriend

Currently thinking of Sam and Dean, left in a town long enough to learn names for once. Sam meets a girl, and Dean cheers him on, gives him $20 to buy her McDonald’s after school. And just like that, Sam has a girlfriend.

They sit together at lunch, pressed hip to shoulder and holding hands. They go out after school, share french fries and milkshakes and work on homework together while her mother keeps an eye through the door that is not allowed to be closed. She’s soft and pretty and her hair smells like apples and Sam blushes when Dean teases him, asks if he needs advice (or condoms, Sammy, use protection, and Sam punches him before running to school).

They’ve been dating for almost a month when she screws up her courage and kisses him in the neighborhood park. It’s over in an instant, but Sam leans in as she pulls away, kisses her the way Dean taught him, licks salt from her lips and chases the flavor of vanilla milkshake in her mouth, and when he pulls back they’re both panting and her eyes are sparkling and happy and for a moment Sam thinks this could be real.

He can’t breathe, suddenly, tries to gulp in air but his throat is closed tight and his eyes start watering, and she’s holding him, stroking his back, panicky voice saying his name, asking what’s wrong, and he pulls in a shuddering breath. The rush of oxygen breaks through the panic that rose in him, and he starts to sob, clings to her. 

When he’s calmer, she asks what happened. What she did wrong. 

“It’s me,” Sam says. “I’m wrong. ‘M a freak.”

He doesn’t want to start crying again, isn’t sure that he can with his head aching and eyes swollen and red.

“I want to want you-” He can’t finish, can’t even look at her. Doesn’t see the understanding creep across her face before she reaches out, pulls him close to hold him.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’re not a freak, Sam. No matter what your family says, being gay isn’t freaky.”

It’s easy to let her think that’s all he meant, easy to keep the rest secret because they’ll be leaving before she can stumble on the deeper secret. He walks her home while the sun sets, and she hugs him on her front porch, whispers that she won’t tell anyone if he doesn’t want her too.

“I want to want you,” he tells her again, and her smile is watery when she says she knows.

They sit together at lunch still, talk about all the same things, get french fries and milkshakes and do homework in her room with the door open and her mother watching. Sam gives her a bracelet made of string and plastic beads the day before he leaves town with Dean, heading off to meet John at some distant hunt, and he wishes he could have found something nicer.

Ten miles out of town, Dean looks over, asks, “You gonna be a bitch about leaving your girlfriend?”

Sam looks at Dean, and his heart beats faster in a way it never did with her. “Yeah.”


	26. boyking!sam and finding dean

Currently thinking of Dean’s deal coming due, and Sam goes ice cold when hellhounds tear him to pieces.

He’s got power, he knows he does, power that scared Lilith, and some hints on how to use it. Max harnessed it through anger and rage, Ava learned to control it and make it grow, and Sam… he’s always been a quick study.

The crossroads demon he summons can’t help him, but Sam remembers a demon that fed its blood to hundreds of infants, created an army of demon-powered mortals, and it’s the most natural thing he can think of when he slashes out with a silver knife and seals his lips over the wound because he learned long ago that blood is power, and demon blood is _his._

Sam’s drunk on it when Ruby finds him, but he lets her think it’s booze and drugs. Lets her get close enough that he can feel the fear when he uses the power in his veins to hold her against the wall.

“I tried to help you,” she says, the closest demons ever get to begging for mercy.

“You failed,” Sam tells her. He holds out a hand, grabs onto the demon inside the flesh. “But you can still help me like this.”

It’s hard to follow a demon into Hell, but he’s more powerful than he’s ever been, scores of demons fueling him and a core of rage that hasn’t stopped growing since Dean was taken. 

-

Currently thinking of Sam finding Dean, off the rack and torturing souls himself and Dean is nothing like the brother Sam knew topside. That’s fine, though - Sam’s nothing like the man he used to be either, and it’s fitting that they’ve changed together. Dean’s eyes are empty, stay empty until Sam tears into the demon that’s been watching and recognition starts to creep in.

The blood is different here where the demons don’t need meatsuits, coats Sam’s hands and clings like it wants to sink into his skin and take him over, but it slides down his throat when he sucks his fingers clean and feeds his power. Wrapping his arms around Dean, seeing a spark of hunger flare in green eyes, feeds a different need, one he’d thought buried year ago. He nuzzles against Dean, smells something familiar and unexpected, smells a bit of demon blending into Dean’s scent.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice is hoarse, unused to anything other than a wordless scream, and beautiful because it’s Dean’s.

“Got a choice, Dean,” Sam whispers against his lips. “We can get outa here, fight our way back topside. We can _do it,_ Dean. Or…” 

“Or?”

Sam doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to offer the choice he’s been running from all his life. “We can go deeper, fight our way down.” 

“I wanna stay.”

Sam grins, choice made and the only reason he’s ever turned away from it is here at his side, will be here forever.


	27. possessive serial killer wincest

Currently thinking of Dean getting possessive over Sam, and he ties him down. Spends hours teasing and fucking and doesn’t let Sam come, says “Remember who you belong to, baby boy,” as Sam strains against ropes or scarves or chains. And when he’s done, and Sam’s thoroughly reminded, Dean releases him. Lays ribbons across Sam’s wrists and ankles, tells him that the ribbons better still be there when they’re done, and fucks him again.

“Good boy,” he says when he brushes the sweaty hair off Sam’s forehead, trails kisses down his arms to where the ribbons remain, unmoved, because Sam can be obedient when it’s Dean.

-

Currently thinking of Sam getting possessive over Dean, and he carves up waitresses and cashiers and pretty girls Dean looks at too long on the street. And Dean is waiting when Sam gets back in the early morning hours, ropes in hand and a thunderous look on his face, but it melts away when Sam gives him a gift.

“Remember who you belong to, big brother.”

A lock of hair, wet with blood, a heart, a scrap of satin and lace, and it’s all Dean needs to know that Sam might have been out all night but was thinking of him the whole time.


	28. psychotic little sammy - no ship (it's always wincest)

Currently thinking of Sammy doodling hearts in the margins of his homework.

Perfect, anatomically correct hearts. Some whole, and rendered so beautifully his teachers almost expect them to start beating on the page. Some not whole, sketches of layers of muscle peeled back to reveal the chambers and valves. Blood vessels drawn with med school text book openings, clean and smooth, or with torn and jagged edges, as if the heart had been ripped from the chest. Some hearts have bones or knives or shards of glass impaling them, some are whole.

And all of them have a touch of deep brownish red ink.


	29. dark!dean and sam's eyes

Currently thinking of Dean and just how much he loves Sam’s eyes.

Loves the colors, blue and brown and green and gray, ever-changing and radiant. Loves the glow when Sam is happy, melts at the puppy-like entreaty when Sam begs for something. Loves the crystalline sparkle as Sam’s eyes fill with tears when he’s hurt.

Currently thinking of Dean and just how much he loves seeing the fear in Sam’s eyes when he picks up his knife. “Shh, baby brother, it’ll be over soon.”


	30. daddycest, sam/john - explicit

Currently thinking of long drives across the country and John and Dean taking turns driving. Dean gets his turn during the day, when the sun is high, and John sleeps in the backseat, sounds of brotherly bickering and classic rock filtering through his dreams and chasing away the fire and demons. John’s turn is at night, Dean so tired he falls asleep instantly, and Sammy sits up front with John.

John likes to drive with one hand on the wheel and the other down the back of Sam’s pants, rubbing over the hole Sam loosened up at the last rest stop, three of his tiny fingers shoved up it in the bathroom while John and Dean hit the vending machines for candy and cola. Sam curls up on the bench seat, knees tucked up to his chest and head down in John’s lap, licks and sucks at his daddy’s cock as John rumbles out instructions in the art of road head and pushes one of his fingers into his son. John pulls off the highway in the early morning, hours before sunrise, so they can all grab a few hours of sleep before starting out again, spreads Sam out on the hood of the car first and Sam grabs his ankles, pulls his legs up over his head with a smile that has never been able to resist.

Dean dreams he’s on a boat in a stormy sea, rocking on the waves faster and faster until the storm passes. When he wakes up the sun is climbing in the sky, and John is asleep in the front seat, Sammy sprawled across his chest and held there by strong arms. Dean pushes them awake, shoos John to the backseat and keeps Sam up front with him while he takes his turn behind the wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey wow - I've got 30 of these! I'm thinking of making any future ficlets into individual fics and just putting them into a "Currently Thinking Of" series. Thoughts? Opinions? Would readers prefer that, or should I keep adding chapters on here?


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